Creamy Filling
by 332249
Summary: Sam Winchester had a tablet to translate. Daniel Jackson has an online database for ancient languages. The SGC does not appreciate it when someone tries to access files without clearance.
1. Internet Security

**Author's Note:** The following excerpt is from chapter 6 of my fic "Professor of American Folklore." You don't have to know anything more about the fic than the excerpt, but I would love for you to read the whole thing. The Plot Bunnies kept nibbling at my ankles ever since I threw a SG-1 tease. So I wrote this to make them go away and give me some peace and quiet. Bunnies are evil.

 **Episode Note:** In the SG-1 episode "The Serpent's Venom" Daniel Jackson hauls arm fulls of books into a spaceship headed to a minefield because there was no ancient Phoenician online.

 **.SPN**

" _Hey, Professor Delmonico. Its Sam Winchester. Do you happen to have access to Dr. Daniel Jackson's ancient Phoenician online? We're working a case in a museum, and something just ate their linguist. I'm trying to translate this tablet the linguist was working on before he died, but I'm not having much luck. There's nothing on the internet useful for translating ancient dead languages and all the books I have are a twenty hour drive back to Kansas. This guy, Dr. Jackson, works as a civilian consultant for the United States Air Force in Cheyenne Mountain Complex. Whatever it is he does for them, they put some seriously kick-ass firewalls around his programs. I'm not making a dent."_

 **.SG**

"Thanks for coming, everyone," Lt. Colonel Samantha Carter greeted the men and woman seated around the conference table at the SGC.

"So what planet is about to explode?" Vala Mal Doran demanded brightly. "Ooh! Do we get to loot the place... I mean, do we need to protect irreplaceable pieces of culture for posterity before it is lost forever?" She flashed a grin of fake sincerity around the table.

"Nah, my money's on we're about to be invaded," Colonel Cameron Mitchell drawled. "Carter was upping computer security protocols again."

General Hank Landry shook his head. Voice dry, he said, "You know, Colonel, SG-1 does have other duties besides saving the planet."

"Yes, sir," Mitchell straightened in his seat.

"Of course we do, General," Vala agreed instantly. "Sometimes, we save the while solar system or the entire galaxy or the time line as we know it. So, really, saving just one little random planet is kind of a come down from our usual duties."

Everyone, except the General, tried and failed to not look amused. Landry managed to avoid cracking a smile in the face of Vala's happy expression. "Colonel."

"Yes, sir," Carter acknowledged, taking back control of her meeting. "Yesterday at 20:30 hours, someone attempted to breech the firewall here at the SGC. They were unsuccessful. However. Due to the unusual nature of our hacker and the file he attempted to access, the incident was flagged for review and brought to my attention."

Col. Mitchell sat forward in his chair, suddenly a lot more interested. He would readily admit that computer-speak tended to loose his attention, but this caught him. "What were they trying to access? Classified files? Personnel records?"

Sam allowed herself a small, amused smile. "The Jackson Compilation."

Everyone blinked in surprise. Except Teal'c. He arched an eyebrow.

Dr. Daniel Jackson's face scrunched in confusion. "Why would someone risk federal prison and the wrath of the SGC for access to a database of dead ancient languages? Especially considering there's nothing there that can't be found at a good university library. That Compilation doesn't even include G'oauld or Ancient, or any alien language. I keep those separate."

"Compilation. Isn't that when those five marines tried to out-prank each other and General O'Neill got caught in the middle?" Cam asked the table. "Yeah, that was it. He sentenced them all to the Compilation project."

"Sentenced?!" Daniel blurted.

But Mitchell didn't let him interrupt. "They had to scan into the computer what? Thousands of pages from dozens of musty old books."

"So he could have reference materials on mission that were light and portable instead of hauling stacks and stacks of reference texts across the galaxy. Yes," Carter agreed. "That's why the incident got flagged. Nothing happened, cyber security worked fine, our would-be hacker got nothing. But considering access to the database is open to universities and professionals world-wide..."

"We're still left with 'why' aren't we? What's the payout here? There's always a payout," Vala looked up from the files on the firewalls. "Otherwise, what's the point?"

"Maybe they were trying to piggyback the Compilation into the rest of the SGC mainframe?" Mitchell suggested.

"We don't know," Carter reiterated, frustration showing in her voice. "They didn't get anywhere at all, so we don't know where they thought they were going or what their endgame might have been."

"So what DO we know, Colonel Carter?" Landry demanded, wanting to get to the point. He had a lot of other meetings that day and a lot of paperwork to get through before his day was over.

"The attempted breech triggered automatic trace and analyze protocols. Results were..." Carter sighed in annoyance. "...unusual. The internet camouflage defenses were top notch. Nothing short of professional grade hardware and programming would've stopped our protocols."

No one argued that this was merely her pride talking. Every man and woman who knew Sam knew how good she was at her job.

"I sense a 'but' coming," Cameron drawled.

"But," Sam obliged. "This person's technique was... almost amateur. It's like..." She had to pause to find the right analogy. "Its like someone has a Nascar racer and is driving it like he's out getting groceries."

Vala turned to face Daniel and Teal'c. "Cultural reference translation, please."

"This person is using the ceremonial blade of the prim'ta as an eating utensil," Teal's offered.

"They know how to use the equipment, but not to its full capabilities?" Daniel clarified.

"Right," Sam agreed. "Which could mean nothing. An amateur hacker got on a professional hacker's system and tried to break into his or her school's best protected program. OR. It could mean me have something on earth that hasn't quite gotten the hang of local technology."

"With the Compilation as a test case," Mitchell caught on. "To see if he or she was good enough to crack the system."

"Exactly. And if that's the case..." Sam lead the group down her logic path.

"You need to find this person or persons before the successfully find their way into our systems," General Landry finished. "What do we know about out mystery guest?"

"We were able to trace the signal to a wifi connection in a hotel in Connecticut. The 'On the Outs? C'mon Inn.'" A little flicker of pain crossed Sam's face as she had to say the motel's name. "We don't know which room. But. We have enough to identify the computer if it gets back on the same connection."

"I'll have transportation waiting for you at the airfield. Dismissed."


	2. A Man with a Computer

**.SG.**

"So. We are looking for a man with a computer." Vala Mal Doran flicked her pigtails right and left, taking in the small batch of people coming and going from the low budget no-tell motel. "Man or woman with a computer," she corrected herself, enunciating every syllable. "I found five. Not counting people with smart phones."

She wasn't wrong. Every other person there had a computer bag or a tablet case hanging off their shoulder with the rest of their luggage. Any of them or none of them could be their culprit. SG-1 had arrived in Connecticut eighteen hours after the attempted hack. Plenty of time for whoever or whatever to have moved on. Add in that they had no idea what their target looked like and this was turning into a needle in a haystack.

"Seriously, Daniel. What are we supposed to be doing here?" Without further ado or warning, Vala whirled and caught the arm of the nearest innocent bystander. She tucked her arm in his like they were dates at the prom. "Excuse me, sir, we are armed federal agents here investigating an attempted cyber incursion into our mainframe yesterday evening. Would the person responsible be your handsome self? Or perhaps your charming companion?"

The hapless bystander, a thirty-ish man with floppy brown hair who stood around six and a half feet tall, dropped his jaw open in surprise but didn't form any articulate sounds. Except what might have been a 'huh?' He looked the tiniest bit afraid. But then, accosted by a strange woman claiming to be armed would do that to a man.

The 'charming' companion lived up to his description as he took Vala's other hand, freeing his companion. "Wasn't us, Sweetheart," he told her smoothly, green eyes twinkling. "But if you want to interrogate me, y'know, just to be sure I'm not lying, I'd be happy to take you out to dinner while we talk. I'm patriotic that way."

Vala's bright smile transformed into something a little more sultry as she considered those green eyes.

"Ooo-kay. We should be going," Daniel announced, tugging his co-worker's elbow to dislodge her from the 'charming' would-be computer hacker.

"But Daniel, what if that's our man?" Vala countered verbally even as she allowed herself to be chivied away. "Shouldn't I let him take me out for dinner and drinks just to be sure?"

"Okay, one, you are not a federal agent of any kind. You are technically a civilian consultant. Two, I think we'll let Sam work her magic with the internet provider _before_ we accuse people of federal crimes. Hmm?" Daniel tossed an apologetic nod to the taller of the two men.

That one nodded back, accepting the apology and looking relieved.

The charmer held up his hands with an apology of his own, looking between Daniel and Vala. "Hey, man, sorry. I wasn't trying to rack-jack."

Daniel's face promptly flushed.

Innocent bystanders escaped out the front door as the rest of SG-1 regrouped.

"Well, Carter got her technical do-hickey plugged in." Mitchell announced. "I got us rooms for the night. One for boys and one for girls, but we might want to make them fumigate before we try to sleep. Or let our bare feet touch the floor."

"Cameron, what does the term 'rack-jack' mean?" Vala demanded, ignoring the update.

Air Force Colonel Cameron Mitchell, who did not hesitate to fly directly into the line of fire to protect the rest of this team, froze momentarily. He he did not want to know how she heard the term and did not want to answer that question. "Alright, I'm gonna ask. Where did that come from?"

Vala gestured at the front door. "The handsome promiscuous man said he wasn't trying to."

"It means to seduce a woman away from another man for the purpose of copulation," Teal'c explained without a flicker of embarrassment on his face.

Vala considered for a moment. "Oh. Okay, then." The bright smile reappeared as she turned to her roommate for the night. "Sam! We get to have a slumber party. I brought popcorn."

"Jackson, why don't you and Teal'c go check out local museums, see if you can't find anything unusual that would attract extraterrestrial interest," Mitchell suggested. He didn't bother trying to order this group to do anything. "I refuse to believe someone chose the 'On the Outs? C'mon Inn' for the ambiance."

 **.SPN**

"Sonnuva Bitch!" Dean Winchester exclaimed as soon as the brother and him were in the Impala. "That was freaking close."

"Yeah, no kidding!" Sam let out a deep breath and a lot of tension with it. "This case just got a whole lot more complicated than it needed to be."

"Ya think?" Dean growled over the noise of the engine.

"It'd probably be suspicious to change hotels, especially now that you made such a lasting first impression." Sam groaned. "Which means I can't get online from the room. You heard the guy, their Sam will be wired into the router by the time we get back."

"So, do your research at the museum. No one's using the dead dude's desk. We need to get this done and get out of here before the rest of the feds get here." A thought struck Dean. "How'd they even trace us, anyway? I thought the was the scary laptop Frank Deveraeux gave you. Didn't Charlie upgrade like, everything to be a super hacker workstation?"

"Yeah, but those were some serious firewalls. That Daniel Jackson guy has some protection software like I've never seen before. Whatever it he does, they want to keep his files safe."

"You know what, Sammy? I don't want to know," Dean declared. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again: monsters I get, people are freakin' nuts. Let's find out what likes linguists for breakfast, and shag ass outta here."

"Sounds good to me," Sam agreed. Then laughed to himself.

"What?" Dean asked.

"What if this thing actually goes out of its way to eat linguists?"


	3. The Doctor's Office

**.SG.**

Daniel Jackson ran a finger down the information board hanging on the wall that listed museum staff by discipline. At least it wasn't a long list. He realized that the SGC was spoiling him when it came to having information like that accessible at the tips of your fingers. This wasn't the SGC. This was a small town and an even smaller museum. Most of the staff consisted of volunteer retirees who didn't want the place to go under. Its few academic professionals mostly used the building as a storehouse and office when their grants didn't allow them to be out of country on a project.

Needless to say, it didn't take long to find who he was looking for.

"Hello, sir!" the information clerk chirped brightly. She was a perky blonde teenager, probably doing volunteer work to pad her resume. "How can I help you this fine day?"

"Hi, my name is Dr. Daniel Jackson. This is my associate Teal'c. We were hoping to consult with a Dr. Sellberg about a project I'm working on. Would he be available?"

The clerk's eyes suddenly brimmed with tears and her perky persona melted a bit. "I-I'm sorry, sir, but Dr. Sellberg died several days ago."

"My condolences. What happened?" Daniel asked.

The clerk sniffled then glanced around furtively. She leaned in and dropped her voice to say, "We're not supposed to bring it up with the museum guests. The big boss didn't want to scare anyone away who didn't already know. Dr. Sellberg was murdered, right here in his office. Now, I didn't see anything, but the janitor who found him told me the poor man was all ripped up. Like he'd been human sacrificed or something, you know?" Her voice dropped even lower to whisper, "He also said he took pictures with his phone and posted them online at 'FreakyButTrue' dot com. But I didn't go look or anything. That'd be too weird, seeing someone I kinda knew like that."

Daniel and Teal'c exchanged a look, both of their minds whirring and thinking the same thing: What were the odds of a deceased linguist and an attempted hack on the SGC tracing back to the same town and the two events being completely unrelated? Now, they just had to figure out _how_ the two were related.

"I will contact Colonel Mitchell to appraise him of the situation. Perhaps the coroner's report will be helpful to this investigation," Teal'c intoned before stepping away to make the phone call.

The young clerk's eyes widened. "Colonel?" she squeaked.

Daniel dug his official SGC ID out of his wallet, muttering to himself: "I always feel like an idiot when I say this." Then he cleared his throat and tried to square his shoulders into something quasi-military. "We are with the United States Air Force on a matter of national importance. I need access to Dr. Sellberg's office and any materials or projects he was working on."

She nearly tripped over her own feet in her excitement to be part of this official-ness.

Teal'c walked and rumbled into the phone as she lead them through the museum's back hallways to the line of offices.

The journey down dusty, barely lit walk ways really took Daniel back to a time before his job under Cheyenne Mountain. How many nearly identical halls saw him through grad school and later as a professor? Of course, back then everyone thought his theories were insane and the few people that came to his lectures usually left before he finished... Progress really was a wonderful thing, sometimes.

Lost in his musings he almost didn't notice when their guide stopped to push open a specific office door. And then it took him a moment to notice three things: One, the dead man's office wasn't empty. Two, the young man behind the desk pouring over the paperwork and notes on the desk couldn't be Dr. Sellberg. Three, Daniel recognized the man as one of the hapless bystanders that Vala had accosted this morning.

The young man had the most humorous 'deer in the headlights' expression on his face; probably worried that Vala would appear and try to molest him again.

"Excuse me, who are you?" the clerk demanded uneasily, stepping back a little closer to Teal'c for protection.

"I'm Sam Weisz with Trusted Mutual Insurance," the man straightened and dropped the deer expression. He handed Daniel a business card as he continued, "I'm investigating a life insurance claim for a Dr. Tony Sellberg. Mr. O'Connell, the museum administrator?- said I could have a look at the late Dr. Sellberg's office. The sooner I wrap up the report the less the surviving family members have to worry about."

Daniel's expression softened at the sentiment. "Your company wants to pay out?"

Sam huffed a laugh. "My company wants it to be murder so they can sue the murderer in civil court and get some of their money back."

"Ah. That makes more sense." Daniel tucked the business card into a pocket. "Wait, you're in town investigating a way to make back some of a claim they're going to pay out, and your company puts you up at the 'On the Outs'?"

Sam's professional smile twisted into something more sardonic. "They take good care of their customers. My partner and I have to fend for ourselves."

"Ouch."

"Hey, this morning, that woman said you were federal agents? Or was that her being..." Sam paused to find the right word and came up empty. "...herself?"

Daniel had to laugh. "Both, actually." Once again, he dug out his ID.

Sam's eyes narrowed as he read the little plastic card. "I can understand the local P.D. inviting the FBI in on the investigation for additional resources. But what's the Air Force's involvement? Your people have no jurisdiction here whatsoever."

"Oh! Uh..." Daniel glanced frantically at Teal'c for suggestions.

"I am afraid that is classified," Teal'c obliged.

"Classified," Sam repeated, clearly suspicious. "I guess that means I should leave you to it, then. I think I have everything I need here." He folded a few notebooks and photos back into his satchel all under the federal agents watchful eyes.

"Well, now that he's gone, let's get to work." Daniel took the chair behind the desk and started in on the paperwork.

Teal'c watched Sam Weisz leave, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

 **.SPN**

"Son of a Bitch!" Sam cursed as soon as he was clear of the museum. He jerked his phone out of his pocket and called his brother. "Dude, I had to bail on the museum. That crazy 'I'm a fed' lady? Really is a fed. Get this: she's with the freaking United States Air Force."

"Air Force?! What the hell?" Dean exclaimed.

"I know, right? I asked and the big guy, honest to god, pulled the 'its classified' crap. I didn't know that was a actual thing; I thought it was strictly hollywood." Sam fumed. "I'm on the way to the library to keep at it. But heads up, they called a Colonel Mitchell to check out the corpse. You might want to get in and out before he gets there."

"No kidding," Dean griped. "Why are they checking out the museum and the corpse? I thought they were here because you tried to hack Nerd HQ. Since when do hackers hang out at museums?"

"I know! How'd they even put that two and two together?" Sam huffed.

Dean chuckled. "What if the Air Force thinks monsters are aliens?"


	4. Laughter in the Morgue

**.SG.**

Vala Mal Doran heard someone chuckle down the corridor in the morgue. It was a nice laugh, sort of a throaty and quite masculine. Except it wasn't a sound she expected to hear when surrounded by dead bodies. Oh, sure, she'd heard the megalomaniacal evil cackle across the field full of slaughtered soldiers and massacred villagers. But while the Goauld's version of laughter was deeply disturbing, this morgue visitor's version was musically pleasing.

She followed Mitch around the corner and almost ran into the Fun-Flirting Man from this morning. Finally, she had found someone who knew how to play and wouldn't take it seriously. Unless, of course, she actually offered to sleep with him; then she was sure he'd take her up on it, but like _that_ was going to happen.

Vala plastered her patented Smile #16: the Toothy Fancy-Seeing-You-Again then reconsidered (they were here on official business, after all) and downgraded to patented Smile #9 the Ha-Ha-I-Know-Something-You-Don't. That one usually made his type realize the game was on.

Fun-Flirting Man glanced at Mitch first, and Vala saw him check the colonel's waistband for weapons. Curious. When his gaze hit her, he flashed her his own Toothy Hey-Baby; he had no need to appear professional. She wondered what number he called that one; because, clearly he had his own repertoire of smiles to pull out as needed. It seemed to be his default setting, so she would call it #1.

Naturally, her companion turned his attention to the boring coroner who looked flustered that so many people had descended on his nice, quiet basement morgue. "Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell, United States Air Force. Are you Dr. Hilks?"

"Y-Yes?" the man in the white lab coat stammered.

"And you are?" Mitch turned on Fun-Flirter, trying to intimidate the taller, more heavily muscled man.

The Hey-Baby morphed into an amused smirk when he transferred his attention away from her. "Dean Fraiser, Trusted Mutual Insurance. Dr. Hilks and I were about to go make copies of his coroner's report."

"What does an insurance company need with a a coroner's report?" Mitchell demanded. "Wouldn't a death certificate do the trick?"

Dean answered with a completely straight face, "My company is very thorough." In fact, his face was too straight to be believable.

Vala, however, had already gotten bored with all the masculine posturing. Really, once you realize that _both_ were going to be posturing, they should skip right to beating the crap out of each other and save all the tedious intermediary tension. "So what did the museum linguist die of? And is it contagious? Should we be worried about our linguist?"

"Oh, uh, I shouldn't think so," Dr. Hilks stammered. "Dr. Sellberg died of massive traumatic blood loss due to something sharp tearing into the abdominal walls. The subsequent shattering of the frontal bone and removal of brain matter happened within minutes of the first injury, but the man was already deceased."

"Something gutted the poor sap then cracked his head like an egg after he bled out," Dean translated.

Vala's ear twitched. "Something?"

"All I can tell you, is the tearing was done by some sort of sharp instrument," Dr. Hilks told her. "A single sharp instrument, as opposed to the multiple lines associated with claws of an animal attack."

"So, only contagious if you have a serial killer on your hands," Dean tossed off as Dr. Hilks handed him his copy of the paperwork.

But Vala Mal Doran had survived a long time by reading people. That was supposed to sound like a flippant remark, but there was a uncomfortable undertone to Dean's statement. Like he was trying to tell them something important, but didn't have the words to come out and say it. Or he knew he wouldn't be believed.

Mr. Fun-Flirting Dean thanked the good coroner for his time and tried to decamp.

"You're not really with an insurance company are you," she demanded, stepping in his way.

Dean took a deep breath before answering her charge.

 _Liar!_ Vala thought triumphantly. That deep breath was classic momentary stall to buy time to think how to answer. Likely, whatever he said next would NOT be entirely honest.

"Of course I am. Why else would I want a copy of a coroner's report?" This declaration was accompanied by a You-Wound-Me/What-Do-You-Take-Me-For face.

"Definitely not an insurance man, then." Vala nodded decisively, flashing #3 Ha!-Gotcha! with full teeth.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Dean offered with an even higher wattage Hey-Baby with a little Man-Slut thrown in. "Why is the Air Force here, and 'its classified' doesn't count."

"Oh for the love of-!" Mitchell erupted. "You're a reporter, aren't you?"

The masculine version of her #7 Oops-You-Got-Me mixed with a little #14 But-Wasn't-That-Fun made an appearance on Dean's face. The man had very mobile, expressive features. He dug into his jacket and held up a press pass. "Weekly World News. C'mon, man. Museum curator gets eaten and you didn't think someone would show up looking for a mummy story? Could I get a statement, Colonel? Why _is_ the Air Force involved?"

"No comment," Mitchell gritted out. "Sir, I'm gonna have to ask-"

Dean cut him off. "Yeah, yeah. I'm going." Then he threw Vala a final This-Ain't-Over smirk as he sauntered out the door.

"Did you see that, Mitchell? That was a saunter. Not very many men can effectively saunter off into the sunset without looking like a pompous ass. That man pulled it off nicely." Vala watched the man leave, taking a moment to appreciate the view. She successfully called him on his insurance investigator cover, but she had a feeling she had barely cracked the surface of whatever it was he was hiding. Maybe...

Maybe she should take him up on that dinner invitation. And make sure she's armed, naturally.

 **.SPN**

"Sonnuva bitch!" Dean swore into his phone. "Guess who I ran into at the coroner's office?"

"That Colonel guy?" Sam didn't have to guess.

"And the hot chick in the matching uniform," Dean informed his brother.

"Which hot chick? There were two." Sam asked.

"Sammy, have I taught you nothing about women?" Dean shook his head in mock disappointment even though his brother couldn't see the gesture over the phone. "The brunette was the hot chick."

Sam tried and failed to follow the logic of that one and had to ask, "Why isn't the blonde a 'hot chick,' too? And what uniform? They were wearing t-shirts and jeans."

"The blonde is a beautiful woman, but she's got the 'way too smart and professional to mess around with you' sign practically stamped on her forehead. That automatically disqualifies her for hot chick status and puts her in the classy lady category, not matter how hot she is. The brunette might never sleep with me, but at least she's got a sense of fun," Dean explained. "And, dude. All five were wearing the exact same style and color t-shirt and jeans? That doesn't happen randomly. The Air Force probably issues civilian clothes for undercover work. Because that's not obvious at all."

"Huh. Okay, that makes a kind of sense. Does that mean you're not going to hit on the blonde when we get back to the room?"

"Of course not," Dean laughed. "That just means I'm gonna use a different approach when I see her again. Do you need a ride to the library to keep at the research? I'm heading there to go over the coroner's report."

"Yeah, come get me. It's a good time to stop for lunch."

"Sounds like a plan," Dean agreed, turning over the engine. "But what if our Air Force Stalkers pick the same restaurant?"


	5. Mission vs Mystery

**.SG.**

"Okay, Carter, what do you got?" Colonel Cameron Mitchell sat at the restaurant table surrounded by his team. Well, less restaurant and more roadhouse called 'Boars Head'. Teal'c had been in the mood for a good steak and the hotel front desk insisted the bar had the best beef in town. The big Jaffa didn't make many demands, so when he did the team tended to acquiesce.

Colonel Samantha Carter heaved a frustrated sigh. "Nothing. Whoever we're looking for, they haven't been back on the same connection with the same computer. Did any of you find anything? Daniel?"

"A linguist named Sellberg died brutally while working on an ancient Phoenician tablet." Daniel Jackson began. "I translated a a couple of lines so far. The tablet details a god called Chusor, or Kothar-wa-Khasis, meaning 'skillful and cunning.' He was a engineer and a craftsman, also created sacred words for making spells. Mostly associated with Ba'al."

"Did this guy, Chooser, have a history of gutting people like a deer then pulling their brains out?" Mitch drawled. "Cuz, that Doc Sellberg was a mess. Eviscerated by some kind of serrated blade. The county coroner is still trying to figure out how someone carved the skull open."

"He designed weapons, some of which were said to be capable of exsanguinating entire armies," Daniel offered. "There's nothing specific I can remember about Kothar-wa-Khasis mutilating victims. But I have another two-thirds of a tablet to translate."

"What lovely dinner conversation we have," Vala sighed, giving her medium rare steak an unhappy look. "I should have taken the scam artist up on his dinner invitation."

"Scam artist? I thought he was an insurance investigator?" Daniel's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Nope," Mitchell chuckled. "They're overeager tabloid reporters."

"Nope," Vala popped her last 'P' hard. "I haven't figured out their angle yet, but they are _not_ reporters. You handed him a line, Mitchell, and he went with it. Twenty dollars says next time I see Dean and call him out on the fake reporter credentials, he'll try to convince me he's an old friend of the dead doctor. Which, naturally, we can't prove or disprove."

Sam considered her friend. Daniel was amazing at figuring out ways to communicate with pre-industrial peoples. Vala, however, was a natural with technological advanced people and scam artists and pirates in particular. Probably because of who and what her father was. "Do you think they're the killers?"

Vala went uncharacteristically silent as she thought about the question. Slowly, she answered, "I don't think so... But they clearly know more about fighting than your typical American. Dean was checking Mitchell for weapons."

"Sam Weisz showed an unusual amount of tactical awareness when we encountered him in Dr. Sellberg's office," Teal'c added in his deep voice. "And he carried several weapons on his person."

"You saw weapons?" Daniel exclaimed.

"I did not. I noticed the weighted pull of his clothing and observed his body language," Teal'c explained. "He moved around the office with a mind to defend or flee if a fight became necessary: he kept his weapon hand partially hidden from my view and did not allow either of us to bloke his line of sight with the exits."

"Not to sound callous," Sam interrupted, "but is the doctor's death related to our computer hacker? I agree its a terrible tragedy, but is it related to our mission here?"

"Don't know yet, Carter." Mitchell admitted. "So far, we're still looking for anything out of the ordinary. The dead linguist and the mystery men are the only thing that fits the bill."

"Okay, weird question," Daniel held up a finger to bring attention back to him. "What are the odds that our mystery hacker really did want access to the Compilation and not the rest of the SGC? What if he wanted to translate that tablet in a hurry and didn't have time to access the program through regular legal means?"

Sam considered it. "That would tie our mystery hacker and our mystery reporters together. But what's so important about that tablet? What could be so urgent?"

"I guess we'll find out when I finish translations," Daniel told them.

Vala glanced up at the doorway and grinned. "I guess I should let Dean take me out to dinner. Sam, want to double with me? A job always gets done faster when there's two people on it."

 **.SPN**

"Sonnuva Bitch!" Dean hissed as soon as he cleared the doorway. It was dinner time, this was the best steakhouse in the city, and it was full of feds.

Sam saw the table full of Air Force officers. "Well... You called it."

"Freaking fantastic," Dean grumbled. "I'm hungry."

Sam smirked. "There's a sushi bar down the road," he offered, knowing his brother's opinion of fish in general and raw fish in particular.

Dean growled. "Okay then, we deal with the feds."

The two Winchesters tried to work their way around the room to an empty table without drawing too much attention.

As soon as they sat, the overly verbose hot chick plopped into the seat beside Dean. "Hello, handsome. I have decided to take you up on your offer to let me interrogate you while you buy me dinner and drinks. And since I would never be so crass as to leave your friend as a third wheel while I monopolize your time, I brought my friend to have dinner with him. Sort of a double date."

Dean actually had to pause and consider. He glanced at his brother. Yeah, she was a fed and there was some risk involved here, but interrogations went both ways. The women would tell the brothers a lot by what questions they asked. Sam's expression said he was game, but it was up to him.

Besides. She was hot.

Dean turned on his best Lady-Killer grin. "So, maybe you can answer a question we had earlier. Does the Air Force issue civilian clothes when y'all are out in the field? Or are you people _that_ used to wearing the same outfits all the time?"


	6. Dinner and Interrogation

Lt. Colonel Samantha Carter had an understanding with a certain general. They both respected the United States Air Force too much to try anything that would stress regulations. There had been one close call, when she was working for Area 51 as a scientist and not a colonel, that they had been tempted to push their luck. In the end, though, they decided to wait and do it right.

That being said, she had been willing to have dinner and drinks with a potential threat to national security for the purposes of intelligence gathering. In all modesty, she knew she was an attractive woman. And she knew that some men were a lot more likely to let something slip to a pretty face like hers. That did not mean that she _enjoyed_ presenting herself as a ditsy blond.

"...Does the Air Force issue civilian clothes when y'all are out in the field? Or are you people _that_ used to wearing the same outfits all the time?"

Vala blinked and stared down at her outfit and then over at Carter.

"You know, I never really thought about it," Carter admitted. "But we are kinda giving ourselves away, aren't we?"

Dean smiled warmly at her. "A little bit. Now, I'm guessing that you aren't going to come out and tell is what the Air Force is doing in town?" He let his voice trail off to make his statement a question.

"I told you, cyber incursion," Vala reminded him.

"Then why were you a the museum?" Sam rebutted. "Unless you think whoever tried to hack you killed Dr. Sellberg, too? But why would those crimes go together?"

"Aren't we supposed to do the interrogating?" Vala returned in a teasing tone.

"My life is an open book for you two lovely ladies," Dean announced with a hand over his heart to show his sincerity. "What do you want to know?"

"Why did you lie about being an insurance man and a reporter?" Vala demanded promptly.

Dean cocked an eyebrow at his date, clearly thinking how to respond.

"Our dad was an old friend of Tony Sellberg, from way back," Sam answered first, his face a picture of puppy-eyed believability. "When we heard what happened, we couldn't stay out of it."

"Since we figured no one would tell us nothing if we showed up as friends of the family, we decided to be a little dishonest," Dean added, his face a picture of unrepentant earnestness. "I won't apologize for that."

If Vala hadn't predicted it a mere five minutes beforehand, Carter would've believed those faces. Damn, they were good. "I get the feeling you don't apologize for much," she noted dryly. "So what do you boys do when you're not out playing amateur detectives?"

"Family business, mechanic shop. I work the garage, Sammy runs the business side."

"Really?" Carter considered the man. If he was really a mechanic... "Maybe you can help me out then. My bike has been acting up, my clutch lever hasn't been doing what its supposed to and I can't figure out why. All the cables are intact."

"What kind of bike?" Dean wanted to know.

"A 1950 Norton Manx," Carter told him with more than a little pride.

Dean whistled in sheer appreciation. "That is a cherry ride."

Carter grinned back, "I know."

"Have you checked the master cylinders or the slave cylinders for leaks?" Dean asked after a moment's thought. "That'll screw with your clutch pretty quick. And it can be hard to notice if you're not looking for the signs."

 **.SPN**

Vala sighed heavily and turned to the other Sam. "Its turned into gearhead's anonymous."

"Looks like," Sam agreed. Dean really looked like he was enjoying it, too. Ever since they lost Bobby, his brother hasn't had anybody to chit chat about engines with anymore. It was nice, seeing him so animated about something other than hunting.

"So what do you say we play pool or darts or something while they think grease monkey thoughts?" she suggested, pulling him up out of his chair.

"I could go a round of darts, I guess..." Sam offered hesitantly. "I had a decent winning streak when I played back in college. But back then, we played for the bar tab and I was always the most sober one."

The lines were delivered with such an innocent, almost shy tone... Vala really should have realized; her father taught her better. "Your brother already offered to buy us dinner. Let's not play for little trifles like money. How about an honest answer for every ten points ahead? Just to keep the game interesting?"

Sam drank down the rest of his beer. "Okay. That sounds harmless enough."

Triumphantly, Vala threw her first three darts and closed out the three highest numbers on the board. "You're gonna have a hard time making enough points to _not_ answer at least one question."

Smiling pleasantly, Sam accepted his three darts. All three landed within millimeters of each other in the bullseye.

Behind them, the two military man started laughing their asses off. Sam could just hear, "Did you see that Jackson? Vala got played!"

Sam smirked. "So. I guess I get to start asking the questions. Why was the Air Force interested in the museum?"

"You know what? I'm tired of darts already."


	7. The Fight and the Throw Down

SG-1 was back at the hotel for the night and Carter was up checking her internet tie-ins. Everyone was pretty sure the mystery hacker was gone, but she wanted to make sure the problem wasn't in her equipment.

Of course, that was before someone grabbed her by the neck and lifted off of her feet. Combat training kicked in and Carter lashed out with both feet. Her assailant grunted as he staggered back and dropped her. Smoothly, she drew her sidearm to take aim. It was too dark to make out very many fine details, but she saw a man's shape wielding a wicked, serrated blade.

The Berretta M9 carried fifteen rounds. Every single bullet hit what Carter aimed for. Not a single one had any apparent effect on the assailant except to knock it back a step from the impact. None of the bullets penetrated deep enough to cause more than an inconvenience.

The man advanced and moved fast enough to grab her again. This time he used his reach to pin her against the rough brick of the building. She could feel her ribs creak under the pressure.

She also realized she could sense the naquadah in him.

"The linguist at the museum was a good meal," the man told her, conversationally. His voice echoed with the undertones Carter associated with go'auld. "English is a strange language. It refuses to follow its own rules. Why would a people choose it as their primary means of communication?"

"What?" Carter demanded, not following the conversation. Why would a go'auld _eat_ someone? And what was with the commentary on language?

The man wrapped a large hand around her skull. "All that knowledge and intellect, Lt. Colonel Doctor Samantha Carter. You will make a fine meal."

Something sharp pressed against the base of Carter's skull, breaking skin and putting steadily growing pressure on the bone. She cried out in anger and intensified her struggles against his grip. With all of her attention on the man holding her, she didn't see the other man melt out of the darkness. If she had, she would have timed her moves better.

Carter twisted hard to the right, throwing all of her body weight off the wall, trying to unbalance him. The assailant staggered a few inches to his left. At the same moment, the other man launched himself into the fray with a bladed weapon. Because of the small stagger, the blade drove home into her attacker's shoulder instead of his heart.

The assailant roared in pain. He spun and backhanded the other man hard enough to send him flying. The momentum of the spin sent Carter sprawling to the asphalt in the other direction. Scrambling to her feet, she saw her attacker ripped the blade out of his own back and staggered off into the night. Scooping up the fallen blade, Carter ripped her smart phone from a pocket when a pained groan stopped her from completing the call.

Her rescuer staggered to his feet, clearly the worse for wear but not seriously injured. He looked her over. "You okay?"

She blinked in surprise when she recognized him. "Sam Weisz? What are you doing here?"

"Uh... We're staying at the same hotel, remember?" He reminded. "I was looking for the ice machine when I heard gunshots."

"Do you always run towards gunshots?" Carter demanded.

Sam's face quirked in thought. "Yeah, I guess I do. Can I have my knife back?"

Carter glanced down at the weapon she was holding and realized two things: One, it was covered in blood too pinkish to be human. And two, she didn't recognize the metal it was made out of. "Sorry, its evidence now."

Pounding feet interrupted whatever retort Sam could come up with as the rest of SG-1 rounded the corner. All four of them held weapons at the ready. Sam immediately held his hands up and backed away from the colonel.

"Teal'c! He's wounded." Carter pointed in the direction her where her assailant vanished.

The big jaffa immediately looked down for a blood trail. Mitch fell into formation on his left.

"Be careful," she pitched her voice to exclude Sam. "He's go'auld and I think he has some kind of personal shield. Bullets only staggered him temporarily."

"Then how is he wounded?" Mitch asked.

Silently, Carter held up the blade.

"Right," Mitch acknowledged. Then he and Teal'c took off into the night.

 **.SPN**

"Sonnuva bitch!" Dean swore under his breath. Those stupid, Air Force amateurs were about to get themselves killed. He ghosted after them, determined to _not_ let them die. Sam and Sam were fine, bruises all around but nothing serious. But his Sam wouldn't be able to give chase with their Sam staring hard at him. At least angel blades could hurt the thing; that was good to know.

When the Air Force men caught up with his monster, the Hunter was reminded of something he should have known: soldiers can kick some serious ass, too.

Both men were pulling out moves Dean had never seen before. They moved fluidly and powerfully from one combination to another, always backing each other up and never blocking each other. Dean made a mental note to NOT pick a hand-to-hand with either of these guys; he was pretty sure he'd loose.

It really was too bad none of their weapons could actually hurt the thing.

The colonel guy took a header into a brick wall and went down for the count.

The bigger man ended up staring down the colonel's gun being held by Chooser.

"Jaffa Shol'va," the monster growled.

Taking that as his cue, Dean pulled back his arm and let fly. An angel blade through the heart was plenty of incentive to drop the gun without killing the big military man.

The monster roared in pain, his flailing hand clipping his would-be victim in the temple with the gun. He glared at Dean, his eyes flared with a golden light.

"Okay, that's not creepy at all," Dean muttered.

The colonel took the opening to jump the monster, grabbing the knife and twisting it deeper. Bellowing his rage, the monster grabbed the colonel and flung him away. Right into Dean. The two men went down in a tangle on limbs. Their quarry was gone before they regained their feet.

Dean looked the military men up and down. They were pissed and they wanted answers. And Dean was the only one left to ask. He straightened out his jacket, pasted a cheeky grin on his face, and pulled out a pad of paper with a pen. "So. Headline: Mummy Murder in the Museum. Could I get a quote?"


	8. Monsters vs Aliens

**.SG.**

"So, how much can we tell them?" Mitchell asked the group quietly. The fake reporters who were actually brothers sat on the other side of the room, likewise conversing quietly between themselves. "I know it would be a violation of national security to tell them the truth, but I kinda want to give them something. What with saving our lives and all."

"It may not be as much of a breech as you think," Carter answered. She gestured to the two identical silvery weapons. "I ran some metallurgical readings on those. I've never seen anything like it. There is no way, whatsoever, those originated from this planet."

"They're very shiny." Vala commented, poking the evidence bags containing the blades. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like this before."

"How about it, Jackson? Teal'c?" Mitch drawled. "These things remind either of you of a planet or a people you've come across before?"

"They do not," Teal'c rumbled.

"Not offhand, no," Daniel admitted. "I can do some checking, though."

"So, are we going with these guys being the 'something on earth that hasn't gotten the hang of local technology yet' option for our computer hacker?" Mitch wanted clarification. "You think those two might be our new species of alien?"

"Its possible," Sam agreed. "Although I doubt they'd be willing to give us a DNA sample to verify that hypothesis."

"If they are our aliens, then they've adapted to our culture extremely well," Daniel offered.

"And that still doesn't explain what they're doing here," Carter complained.

"Ooh!" Vala exclaimed, a sudden idea striking. "Teal'c, remember how we were wondering why a goa'uld like Seth didn't cause more trouble than he did? How you said it was almost like he was afraid of causing too big of a commotion? What if our mystery man-aliens are why; what if they're here to stop Kothar-wa-Khasis from his nefarious plan?"

Teal'c cocked an eyebrow in consideration.

"What nefarious plan?" Daniel almost didn't ask, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what scenario grew out of Vala's imagination.

"The one we haven't figured out yet, Daniel," Vala told him as though it were obvious.

"Right," Daniel sighed, feeling a headache coming on. "Naturally."

SG-1 broke up the confab.

The brothers silenced their discussion and watched them approach.

"So, what planet are you from?" Vala asked with a sweet smile.

Sam and Dean blinked at each other for a second before Dean answered, "Krypton, originally. But we grew up in Kansas. Yeah, in fact we once gave Superman a ride, but back then he was still going by the name Tom Welling."

"Mmm." Vala considered the names. "I'm not familiar with that planet."

"That's because it's not real," Daniel explained. "Its from a comic book."

Vala's mouth fell open in exaggerated shock and outrage.

"Hey, Sweetheart, ask a stupid question get a smart-ass answer," Dean smirked.

"Its not a stupid question!" Vala insisted. "Everyone here knows the shiny sharp things you used to stop the beastie from killing Sam aren't from earth. Its not that big of a stretch. So come on boys, don't be shy. Teal'c is from Chulak. I'm from... well, all over really. So, you can be honest with us. Where are you from?"

Sam huffed a disbelieving laugh before repeated his brother. "Kansas."

"Okay then," Mitchell drawled. "Carter, your turn."

"What I am about to tell you is classified top secret under section 11C9 of the National Security Act." Carter told them both.

"Hey, Sammy, am I supposed to know what that is?" Dean asked his brother in a stage whisper.

"The Patriot Act, Dean," Sam explained with a long-suffering sigh. "It means, we talk about anything they tell us, to anybody, we get an express trip to Gitmo. And knowing us, we never see daylight again."

"Awesome." Dean flashed a trademark grin. "Lay it on us, Sweetheart."

The brothers sat and listened as Colonel Carter explained to them about something called a Stargate and the aliens they met through it.

 **.SPN**

While SG-1 held their group discussion, Sam and Dean had filled each other in on what happened. Then came the Air Force people with their weird-ass questions. Followed by one of the freakiest stories they'd heard in a while. The crazy thing, the thing that really got to the brothers, was how serious these people were. They absolutely meant what they said.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and momentarily wished he still kept whiskey in his flask instead of holy water. "Aliens. Body snatching aliens. That's just... Awesome. 'Cuz our lives needed more crazy. And you people are the Men in Black T-Shirts. Are we gonna get flashy-thinged later?"

"Flashy-thinged?" Vala repeated curiously. "Is that anything like flashing someone? Because that is incredibly presumptuous to assume that any of us will be exposing ourselves."

"It is a reference to a film." Teal'c rumbled in explanation. "We will watch it with you at a later date for explanation."

"Wow," Dean laughed. "I'm having Cas flashes over here."

"What is a Cas?" Vala demanded, looking to Teal'c again for explanation again.

"He's a friend," Sam answered absently. "And not really relevant right now. Do these... goa'uld... typically remove portions of brain matter? Or threaten to eat their victims?"

"No," Carter admitted. "We have no explanation for that yet."

Sam and Dean shared a look, each asking the same question: How far do we want to take this?

In the end, the younger brother started talking. "Colonel, have you ever heard of Kothar-wa-Khasis? Also known as Chusor?"

"We've been researching him since we came to town," Carter admitted. "Is that why you tried to hack Daniel's language database? To translate that tablet?"

"We're gonna plead the fifth on that one, ma'am." Dean's response let them know that yes, it was them, but they'd never prove it. So could they please drop it and move on?

"He's not a goa'uld, we don't think. He's something else altogether," Sam offered, carefully, trying to gauge their responses. "That's why we're here. We track things that aren't human but that kill humans. According to the lore, Kothar-wa-Khasis is known to collect skills and knowledge by eating the minds of his victims. Sound familiar?"


	9. Anticlimatic

SG-1 was not unused to working with local experts. Every new planet they explored had an established population complete with individual beliefs. Still. It was a novel experience working on earth, in an American city, with people who might know more about the non-human entity than them.

The Winchesters were not unused to working with uniforms and feds. Granted, usually when they did it they were wearing suits and pretending to be feds as well. It was nice, working with official support without having to hide who they were. It was even nicer having friends with the authority to put out an APB on their monster of the week.

All seven of them had seen their quarry. Together, they created a police sketch artist style rendering. Within an hour of the attack, his picture was sent to every uniform patrol officer in the city and the state troopers in the area. Soon after, the sketch made its way to the local news stations with a tip hotline phone number scrolling under it.

In Sam and Dean's experience, monsters weren't smart enough to know when to cut and run. They assumed their quarry would still be nearby. In SG-1's experience, aliens like the goa'uld knew when they were in over their heads and valued their own necks to not be ashamed to scarper.

The end of the hunt turned out to be a new experience for both groups: the next morning after Carter was attacked, Kothar-wa-Khasis walked into the police station and turned himself in. Peaceably. When all both groups arrived, the guy was sitting quietly in a holding wearing clean clothes, looking a little nervous and more than a little resigned.

All in all, it was a little anticlimactic.

"What the hell?" Dean demanded of no one in particular.

The prisoner looked up at the elder brother and paled slightly. He edged back from the bars saying, "I thought I made it clear I was surrendering to the Air Force officials. What are the Winchesters doing here?"

Mitch glanced at the civilian monster hunters. "You know these two?"

"My host recognized them last night. Every pagan god still standing knows the freaking Winchesters!" he snarled, trying to not look as scared as they all knew him to be.

"Your host?" Daniel asked, with a quirk of his eyebrows. "Not you?"

"I am Kothar-wa-Khasis the skilled and cunning of the goa'uld. My host is Chusor the devourer of knowledge. He has lived on this world for centuries longer than I, eating the minds and knowledge of countless thousands. When I took his body for my own I learned everything he knew, including the existence of Hunters. It was mere chance seven years ago that he did not attend the summit and die an ignoble death."

"So, you're a monster with a creamy alien filling?" Dean laughed. "That's new."

"Actually, it makes a lot of sense." Daniel looked to his teammates. "The goa'uld are always looking for a better host. And we knew that they don't always limit themselves to humans, like with the Unas."

"Okay, so we got a goa'uld who finally found himself a super-host," Mitch drawled. "That doesn't explain why you would turn yourself in on a whim."

"A whim?" Kothar-wa-Khasis vented a bitter laugh. "Not a whim, colonel. I considered my options very carefully last night as I healed from two holes in my chest! You, SG-1, will arrest me. You'll demand information of me, and when I don't tell you everything you'll lock me away in a dark, dark hole. Until. Something worse will come, be it the Ori or something new, something will come. And you will capture one of them, and you'll need to know it's plans in order to save your precious little planet." He sneered at them. "And it won't work. Then, as you get desperate, you will remember about me and my host's ability to eat information directly from its brain. On that day, months or years from now, I will trade my freedom and safe passage off of this world for the knowledge you will so desperately seek."

"Wait a minute!" Vala exclaimed. "We're the lesser of two evils? That's ridiculous! Remind me again who killed every single last system lord, the Replicators, and the Ori. _We_ should be the scariest people in the galaxy right now!"

The goa'uld filled monster harrumphed in derision. "If if turn myself in to the SGC, I will be inconvenienced but I will endure. Your so-called 'good nature' will one day be your undoing."

A dark smile teased in the corner's of Teal'c's mouth. "But not if we hand you over to the Winchesters."

"Winchesters!" Kothar spat, growing bolder with bars and his captors standing between them and him. "The freaking Winchesters are killers. Monsters all over this world fear them."

Carter shook her head. "I shot you fifteen times and they stabbed you twice. What kills you?"

Sam Winchester favored the monster with a vicious smile. "According to the lore I found after I got done with the museum tablet, we'd have to split his body into pieces with a holy sword,"

Dean grinned, holding up yet another angel blade. "Check."

"Grind the pieces down to dust in a mill," Sam continued.

Dean held up a mortar and pestle from his duffle bag. "Check."

"Burn them."

Gas can and matches. "Check."

"Bury the ashes in salted ground."

Shovel and road salt. "Check."

"Soak the ground in blessed oil."

Small amphora from Jerusalem. "Check."

"...and burn it all." Sam finished.

Dean flicked his zippo open and closed. "Colonels. Y'all sure you don't want to hand this thing over to us? If that doesn't work, I got a half dozen lead-lined boxes I can bury his pieces in. He may not be dead, but he sure as hell won't be a problem anymore."

Kothar-wa-Khasis lost his sneer and edged away from the brothers some more.

Cameron Mitchell looked over at Teal'c. "Suddenly, I get why this guy is more scared of them than he is of us."

"Indeed," Teal'c rumbled.

"Sorry," Carter shook her head, ignoring her teammates. "As military officers, we have a responsibility to our prisoners."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumped, packing away the supplies. "But if Creamy Filling over there ever gets loose, give us a call. We'll take care of it."


End file.
